


Death Heals Primeval

by Dirthabro



Series: Drifter, Warlock, Dredgen, Lie [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Quickies, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, The Author Regrets Nothing, maybe they fall in love idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-14 06:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirthabro/pseuds/Dirthabro
Summary: Drifter has a favourite Guardian. He doesn't show it in any fancy fashion, but he makes due.





	Death Heals Primeval

She came down the stairs of the alley with enough motes to power the City for a week. She’d had better - and sure as hell had worse - but the haul today will keep Drifter satisfied, if not wanting for more. 

He’s already surrounded by a few Guardians when she meets his lightless eyes at the entryway. They warp out in their own time when they’ve traded off their bounties for glimmer and gear, leaving the two alone. The hum of the Bank behind him is the only sound for a good minute.

“Good huntin’ today!” He threw his arms wide, and a jade coin rested between his fingers. “Got all the motes a man could ever dream of.”

She gave him a light laugh, and his smile was all teeth. 

“I’m serious - you’re like a mini Oryx out there. It gets frightenin’. Next thing you know the Vanguard’ll put a price on your head.”

“And they haven’t put one out on yours?”

“Me? Tch.” He looked at her in a way that she knows what he’s thinking - that they might after all. That Praxic Warlock’s been breathing down the back of anyone who’s ever played Gambit, and she even talked to her too. 

“I might go for it, if the glimmer’s good enough.” She winked. “But it’d have to be steep.”

“If you go for it I’ll pay you double the rate to forget about it.”

“If you asked I’d split it with you and we move Gambit out of the Tower. Fake your death and all that. Real dramatic.”

“‘We’?”

“Who else?”

Her brilliantly bright eyes flared with a sense of mischievousness, and he couldn’t help but squint at her. Most Warlocks he’d encountered are either too stuffed into books and lore, or they’re haughty - not that he would ever say that to Ikora’s face, that’s why he clarifies as most Warlocks.

But this one, she’s a whole ‘nother prospect. Good at Gambit, and sharp as a wit. Arguably one of his favourites - she even joined his crew without hesitation. Didn’t know if it was a rebellious streak in her or of she truly didn’t believe the Vanguard’s propaganda.

“Say, you ever seen the Haul up close?”

She gave an indifferent shrug, “only when you’re dropping the fireteams in.”

“Do you wanna?”

The grin on her face was too tempting. 

“Why not?”

He had her on his ship within the hour, sticking a sign on the Bank in his slice of the Annex that bounties get an extended time and to just bank some motes.

The Derelict was cold - but he liked it that way. Warm was fine but with kitbashed equipment it was better to have it chilly to stop spontaneous fires. When it was live and running, the whole ship ran hot and kept going til the last mote. 

Now, everything was still and empty. Quiet, save for the hum of the engine. 

“It’s nice,” the Warlock said lightly. “Not very homely though.”

“Better than the Tower,” Drifter responded. “No Vanguard tryin’ to stop Gambit out here. No ma’am.”

“True. I imagine it gets lonely here though.”

“You get used to it.”

She hummed, taking the walkway to look past the jump ring and at the Haul. “It’s like your own Ascendant Plane in there, you know. Never seen anything like it.”

“Yea, well, the Nine have some crazy tricks up their sleeves.” He followed her. “Nothin’ like it.”

She stood at the edge of the rail, leaning over just to stare at it. The soft light of it reflected back onto her face, accenting every curve of her face like Luna.

Drifter leaned next to her, back against the rail. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, of her. His favourite Dredgen and crew runner. 

Like clockwork she looked back up to him. 

“You know how to show a girl a good time, Drift. Hell of a view.”

His laughter was a bark of surprise, nodding absently. “I can show you half the damn system to you, but these moments are better than anything you’ll see out there.”

“You sound like you’re going soft on me.”

It was a little thing, but a flare nonetheless. 

Drifter leaned over the Warlock, a hand resting lightly against her throat to turn her head up. 

“I’m anything but soft,” was the hoarse whisper. Her face was shadowed now from the disruption. “And I can show you.”

It was a brief moment before he crushed his lips into her’s, tightening his hand around her neck. She gasped against his own, and he could feel a hand scramble to catch his pauldrons for leverage. Her pulse jumped under his hand, and the warmth of that - the desperation and shock - had thrill running through him. 

If she wanted him to stop, Drifter imagined he would have been a pile of ash already considering her history in Gambit. Her breathing was steady as she playfully nipped his lip and pressed into his hand. He gave a light squeeze - noting the gasp - and plunged his tongue into her mouth. The shudder that ran through her had his head spinning. Her warmth that was an anomaly in itself on his ship was drawing him in, making old bones ache for more. He ran his tongue over her’s and relished in the moan he could feel on his hand. 

He couldn’t think of the last time he met someone like this. Orin _maybe_ , but not like her. Not like the Warlock that was so ready to give him anything except a bullet to the Ghost. He flourished in her heat, all too desperate to do so. 

Drifter broke their connection by pushing her away from him. It was gentle, but firm. 

“Why’d you stop?” Her eyes flared like tiny, angry rifts. “It was getting good.”

“Told you I ain’t soft.”

There was apprehension in the air. Emotions made things complicated, and whatever he felt for her could just as easily be lost the next day to a bullet or a bit of info neither of them liked. 

“You don’t make things easy, either.”

“Nope.”

The Warlock glared at him. Heat rolled off of her like it did on Mercury’s surface. Part of the reason he didn’t have Gambit matches there. 

“Drift.”

He pretended not to hear her, opting for a coy smile. There was no indication she was playing as she stepped mere centimeters away from the man’s chest. 

It was actually _endearing_ , and Drifter had almost forgotten the feeling of it. 

“I ever tell you that look gets me going when I see you in Gambit?” He offered. “I imagine you look at the Primevals the same way.”

She said nothing in response. Rather, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss. He wasn’t surprised - that was gone long ago - but he let her have this. 

His hands reached for anything that would grant him purchase; her breastplate, her wrist, her hips - she did the same by snaking her hands around his midsection to start feeling him up.

Not that he protested. Her hands were warm, and he could only begin to imagine how warm the rest of her was. 

When she got past his waist he grabbed her hand and clenched it, earning a small gasp from her. It didn’t stop her from biting his lip hard in protest, but that spurned him further. His heart was running fast. His hand felt the pulse on her wrist - it was fast for her too. 

She broke off their kiss in a gasp for air. He released her hand, rushing to grab her neck and tilt it up. He heard a cut off noise from her throat, ignoring it as he bit her neck harshly. 

The noise turned into a rushed cry which turned into a moan, and the Warlock became putty before him. 

“Can’t believe the woman’s got a weak spot after all,” he murmured against the bite. “Here I was thinking she was only ever a hardass.”

“Says the man who went straight for the kill.”

He chuckled, breathing against the hot skin. He tilted her head to the other side and made another mark, digging his teeth in. It was primal in nature, maybe excessive, but she was _his_ crew. No other Guardian could touch her while he was still kicking.

“You’re mine,” he hissed. “Only mine.”

There was a broken moan in response.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

 _Good_ , he added silently, and he pressed a kiss against the bite. That made her quiver. 

He left all sorts of marks on her neck, where he could get to them. Big ones, small ones, some that would vanish when her Ghost cleared them, and others where he would be sad to see them go. All the while she was a moaning hot mess beneath him, grabbing onto him once more and digging her thumbs into his arms. 

“Somethin’ up?” He asked, rough lips against her skin. 

“Fucking _hell_ ,” was the eventual response. He looked at her face and couldn’t help the thrum of pleasure that shot through him at the look of her face. Her cheeks were flushed bright red in the low light, and he thought it complimented her marks just right. 

Despite all sense of self, he kissed her. Lighter this time. It was something soft he hadn’t thought himself capable of in a long time. 

Her hands cupped his face. Also a tender gesture. Far unlike the warrior he would see pummeling Taken with her bare hands, strangling them when her ammo ran out.

He had been alive for over a thousand years and yet this moment felt longer than it all. It broke off with a shaky sigh turned laugh on his part, “you don’t make this easy.”

“Never wanted it to.”

He grabbed her hips, pulling them flush against his own in a sudden jerk. She looked eager - overly so perhaps - and part of him couldn’t wait to relish in it.

It was a mutual reckoning as they grappled with one another’s armor. He kept himself bundled up like any rational lightbearer with a means to an end, but her’s was laughable. Even for a rogue Warlock she opted to have a chest piece with all sorts of dangling cloth, wrapped upon itself - nevermind the weird overlaying of gauntlets and her arm sleeves. 

It was almost a battle to see who could get what off first - he had deft hands, but she had pure willpower. Every small clasp was as good as done, but her stubbornness held tight in a refusal to be outdone over something so basic.

It almost seemed unfair. Despite his simplicity, she still couldn’t get it. 

“You ever thought about wearing less?” 

“Now - I don’t need to get kicked out of the Annex for indecency,” he winked. 

A huff. He popped off her breast plating.

Immediately he went for the bare flesh available to him, peppering rough kisses here and there. It was a worthy distraction, considering her efforts had waned just briefly to wallow in his attentions. 

He pushed the thick cloth from over her shoulders, nipping her skin here and there as it fell to the metal grating with a thump. The woman rivalled the sun when it came to radiating heat - it rolled off of her in waves, and damn if it wouldn’t kill him in _some_ fashion one day. He wouldn’t be surprised if she turned into a damn supernova either. 

She tugged off his pauldrons, and the metal-on-metal noise echoed as it hit the ground. With renewed fervor, she began to tear off his clothing just as he was savouring the good bits of her own bare flesh. 

“Easy now,” he grabbed the upper part of her arm, stopping her from shredding his clothes. “No point in destroyin’ what I gotta wear later.”

She grunted and pressed him back against the railing, getting close to his face to where there was barely room for the two to even look at one another. There was a long silence - part of him thought that she was wearing a hole in his head - until she pressed a hard kiss on his lips and slid her hands up his front.

She was driving him crazy, not that he would ever admit it. 

He put his hands on either side of her head and drew her at once. They fed on each other again, need taking the reins now. Their short breaths were like a fog that reflected what went on in their heads - doubts between the desperation and want.

His hands slid down and wandered her chest; it was a curiosity, but what _wasn’t_ when it came to this woman, this new experience that was unfolding right before him? He played a gamble and was reaping the rewards with figuring out how she _worked._

Fingertips danced down her stomach, testing the bounds of her pants just at her hips. She rolled them towards him in an attempt for contact, but he teased her briefly by leaning away from her need for purchase. 

“You’ll get it when you get it,” he grinned at her. He was cut off from another smarmy remark by her mouth and a hand groping him below the belt. 

A short gasp escaped from him at the sensation, but he steeled himself once more. There was no way he’d let her get the better of him, even if her touch was downright intoxicating - it sent goosebumps down his arms, not that he would ever let her know just how on edge she was making him. 

He flipped them, pressing her back against the metal railing with her arms tangled in his. There, he ground against her with a leg between her own, his knee pressing against the between of her legs. Whatever composure she was rapidly failing, and her words slurred into a hasty mess.

“M’on.”

“Didn’t quite catch that,” he rumbled.

“Come _on_.”

“What’cha want me to do, _Dredgen_? You want me to show you what it really means to have that name?” His voice was dangerously low, whispering in her ear. “Cause all I see is a Warlock demanding nonsensical things.”

“Drifter I swear on whatever you love - on all of Gambit and those _fucking_ motes -” she was hissing at him through clenched teeth. “If you don’t fuck me like you mean it I will incinerate us both.”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

He began unbuckling his pants, pressing disarming kisses to her jaw in hopes of appeasing her. She squirmed out of her own restraints, her greaves falling down and catching on her clunky boots. Every part of her trembled in aprehension, and his spare hand ran down over her stomach and hovered just at her navel. It was an intimate thing that made the whole thing seem so damn real, all while his head was muddled up with nothing short of chaos.

It was a struggle to hoist her leg up and against his waist to gain leverage. They were a tangle of clothes and armor and wild emotions, and there was hardly any give for either of them. The cloth on her greaves tore in the bid for more space, earning a curse from him and an insistent whine from her. 

He noted her bracing herself against the railing and obliged her by skimming a hand over her hips. She gave him a look, and he drew it lower, barely touching where he knew it should drive her wild.

“No need to get testy.”

“ _I swear--_ ”

Her protest was cut off as he thrust up into her, effectively ending whatever argument she intended to start. He noted her glowing, clenched fist and couldn’t help but grinning at how tense just a small gesture set her off. 

It was fast and rough, like most things in his life. He pounded into the woman like she was his lifeline, causing her cries to echo in the dim space. There was only one thing he wanted in this space of time, and it was _her_. Their tangled arms constricted one another - her arms wrapped around his back as his own cupped her bottom for more lift, her head against his and legs intertwining. 

Drifter buried his face into the side of her bruised neck, raking his teeth over his marks prior. She felt like heaven and hell tied into one person, and damn if the friction was enough to make him look like a Kinderguardian. It had been years since he was with someone else in this capacity, but she felt _good_. Her voice in his head, the way her body moved and reacted - he praised himself silently for not coming yet. 

He groaned her name against her hot flesh in a moment of weakness. A man notorious for his sleight of hand, and here he was - bumbling about like he had when he was first rezzed. He slipped his free hand between them, a heavy hand to drive her higher. 

The Warlock’s body coiled around his, unable to finish a complete word. There were stutters that turned into drawn out moans and choked consonants, but she couldn’t finish a word as he railed her like a mad man. Her fingers cut into his arm from sheer desperation, every canter bringing the pair of them closer to an inevitable climax. 

It sounded like murder when she came. She was grabbing onto anything when she threw her head back. The pressure, the sensation; he followed close behind her, nestling himself deep inside her with a broken cry against her neck. He had vaguely tried not to maim her further, but this time he broke skin.

His knees were shaking, but he could only be still. Hell, he couldn’t even hear himself think over the sound of his own breathing. She was the same; a broken statue too scared to move for fear of falling apart. 

With his free hand, he wiped off his mouth as he leaned back to look at her. Her head was still bent back and her chest still heaving, but she looked perfect. Ragged and ran through, but still a sight to behold. 

He set down her leg and braced himself against the railing, moving to wipe the sweat off his face and stop his own heart from beating out of his chest. 

Neither of them spoke for a while. There was nothing to say. 

“Fuck.”

“You could say that again.”

“You owe me new greaves.”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Yea.”

She let out a shaky sigh. “Goddamn.”

“Don’t get soft of me,” he let a small grin slip through. “I showed you a good time, no need to get all easy on me.”

The Warlock looked over at him with half-lidded eyes. She leaned over him, pressing an unusually tender kiss to his cheek. It surprised him a bit, but at this rate he wasn’t too surprised by much. 

A sharp snap caused the both of them to glance up and at her Ghost. The AI buzzed like a hive, spinning as if the world was ending.

“Two fireteams incoming to Derelict transmat zone.”

“Shit.”

She snapped up her clothing, hoisting up what wasn’t torn up and covering herself. 

“Thought you said the Derelict was empty?”

“Forgot about a private match,” Drifter grunted. He grabbed his clothes and threw them on haphazardly. “That Clan’s been on me for weeks about having one.”

She scowled. “ _Drift._ ”

“Yea yea - I know.” 

He was putting on his pauldrons when his necklace was snatched from around his neck. He was about to say something before she put a finger in front of his face. 

“I’ll give it back when I get new, Legendary, Invader-spec greaves.”

“Hard bargain. Deal.”

“See you in the Tower.” 

She pressed one lingering kiss to his lips before disappearing out of thin air. It felt colder in the Derelict without her presence, but he steeled himself for the Gambit match. He rushed to make himself _slightly_ presentable, and the fireteams flew in just as he ruffled his clothes back to their style. 

“Alright, mavericks,” he grinned to the Guardians from ear to ear, a jade coin appearing from nowhere. “Ready to see what you’re fighting today?”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written anything like this, please be gentle! I might add more to this but so far it's a stand alone indulgence. ♡ 
> 
> My new Destiny blog is thv-nine.tumblr.com, but if you wanna catch the main hub for my writing, the usual is viir-banalras.tumblr.com.


End file.
